Chapter Sixteen #4
The private suite was nothing like Lane expected and somehow exactly right.
It was lush but not loud. Velvet furniture and fresh flowers arranged in black ceramic vases. A vanity lit with soft bulbs. A table holding fruit, sparkling water, champagne, and small bites that looked too pretty to eat casually. A changing screen stood near one corner, draped with silk.
Calla stood near the vanity in a black silk robe with her hair swept back from her face.
Her makeup was still flawless from the stage.
Up close, she was even more striking. Not just beautiful, though she absolutely was.
She had the kind of presence that made beauty feel like the least interesting thing about her.
Lane had to remind herself to breathe normally.
Lennox smiled. “Calla. It’s good to see you. It’s been a while, so that’s always good news.”
Calla’s mouth curved. “Lennox Jackson. Still alive, still dangerous, and still pretending distance counts as emotional regulation.”
Lane’s brows lifted.
Oh, she liked her.
Lennox chuckled. “I see you’re still reading people for sport.”
“Only when they make it easy.”
A tall, handsome man rose from the sofa. Broad shoulders, warm brown skin, and quiet confidence. Lennox stepped toward him first, dapping him up with easy familiarity.
“James.”
“Ledger.” James pulled him into a brief hug with a clap on the back. “Good to see you, man.”
“You too.”
A curvy woman with soft eyes and a smile that felt like warm blueberry muffins stood next. Her beauty was gentle but not fragile. The kind that invited comfort and still warned people not to mistake softness for weakness. Lennox hugged her warmly.
“Amiyah.”
“Hey, Lennox.” She squeezed him before stepping back, her gaze moving toward Lane with immediate kindness. “And this must be Lane.”
Lennox returned to Lane’s side, one hand settling at her lower back. “Lane Sanders, this is Calla Black, also known as The Black Dahlia. This is James Carter Jr., and this is Amiyah Patterson. Her lovers.”
Lane smiled, hoping she didn’t look as nervous as she felt. “It’s nice to meet y’all.”
Amiyah’s face softened. “You’re beautiful.”
James nodded. “Lennox didn’t exaggerate.”
Lane’s cheeks warmed. “That’s rare for him.”
“About you?” Calla said, walking closer. “I doubt it.”
Lane looked at her.
Calla stopped just in front of her, close enough for Lane to catch the faint floral note of her perfume. Her eyes were sharp, dark, and assessing, but not unkind. It felt less like being studied and more like being recognized.
Calla tilted her head. “What do you get when you have dahlias and lavender?”
Lane’s breath caught.
Calla’s smile was slow. “Grace and elegance.”
The words were spoken softly, but Lane felt them everywhere. Her face heated so fast she almost looked away. Almost. Calla’s closeness didn’t feel invasive. It felt intentional, like the woman knew exactly how powerful she was and had decided to make that power gentle for Lane’s sake.
“Grace and elegance,” Lane repeated, voice quieter than she intended.
Calla touched her hand lightly, then stepped back. “Come sit. Lennox has been telling me just enough about you to make me curious and not enough to get himself in trouble.”
Lane looked at Lennox. “Look at you respecting boundaries when I’m not around.”
“I’m consistent now.”
“Let’s not get carried away.”
James laughed as they all took seats around the low table. Lennox sat beside Lane but gave her enough room to decide how close she wanted to be. Naturally, his hand still found her knee beneath the robe because the man had a medical condition called contact or die.
Lane didn’t move away.
Amiyah poured sparkling water and offered champagne.
Lane accepted water, still wanting her senses clear enough to absorb the room.
They talked first about easy things. Olive and Oak.
Knox’s lamb. Dana’s wine. Winston Hills.
Nova’s upcoming album. Calla asked about The Full Plate Project with genuine interest, and Lane found herself explaining the grocery-style market build-out—the quarterly funding.
The staff raises and the way access mattered more than aesthetics when feeding people who relied on bus lines, sidewalks, and dignity.
Calla watched as if she was taking in art.
James asked practical questions about land ownership and developers.
Amiyah asked about volunteers and whether Lane had partnerships with local schools.
Lennox stayed mostly quiet, but Lane could feel his pride beside her like heat.
After a while, Calla leaned back, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, eyes on Lane.
“You carry pain beautifully,” she said.
The room went quiet.
Lane’s body went still.
Lennox’s hand tightened on her knee once, then loosened as if reminding himself not to answer for her.
Lane swallowed. “I wish I didn’t most days.”
“I understand,” Calla’s voice softened. “It’s an observation. And maybe a warning.”
Lane held her gaze.
Calla didn’t look away.
“I can see the pain in your eyes,” she said. “And I can see the strength you’ve used to mask it. I recognize that because I was that woman before I fell in love with James and Amiyah.”